


The Milestone Series: Year Three

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [12]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil celebrate Clint's third year at SHIELD. Phil helps Clint complete a recovery no one thought possible and Clint takes Phil on a trip to meet some important people from his past. One-shot! *Vantage Point Universe*NO SLASH*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Milestone Series: Year Three

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> And we're back again! With the next installment in the Milestones Series! If you haven't read "Year One" or "Year Two", it's okay because this one can stand on its own. But you could totally go back and read those...I'd love that ;D
> 
> This is the third in a series of one-shots in my "Vantage Point Universe", which is an Avengers universe centered around the character Clint Barton.
> 
> This story - as I said - can stand on its own. But it does take place following the events of my story "Croatia", so reading that would at least show you what happened to cause the injury Clint is recovering from here :)
> 
> Enjoy!

_My path has not been determined. I shall have more experiences and pass many more milestones._

**_Agnetha Faltskog_ **

* * *

After so many mornings of waking up in pain over the last four months, Clint was surprised when consciousness returned smoothly and painlessly. He woke with his usual abruptness, moving from sleep to wakefulness in a moment with no discernible cause. He rolled his head on his pillow as he stretched. The clock on his bedside table was staring back at him with bright red numbers telling him it was fifteen minutes till six.

He continued to stretch, moving his arms up above his head and feeling the satisfying pull and release as his muscles drank in the fresh oxygen. There was a sudden spike of pain in his left shoulder and he relaxed out of the stretch, his right hand going to cover the three inch raised scar that rested almost exactly centered beneath his left collar bone.

Four months. It had been almost four months since he'd stepped in front of a bullet, saved Phil's life and made Croatia one of the missions they'd never forget. Four months since he'd last fired his bow. Four months since the day the doctors told him he might never fire it again. Clint had never stayed stricter to a physical therapy plan than he had in the last four months. He was determined to put his stubborness to good use. He _would_ fire his bow again. He _had_ to.

Despite the dire thoughts, Clint smiled. Because today was too important not to smile about.

July 12, 2006

Three years today since that night in Vienna. He didn't know what Phil had planned, but Clint knew exactly what his gift to the older man would be. He'd been planning it for nearly three weeks now. Thinking about today had him climbing out of bed enthusiastically and searching for clean pair of shorts and a clean training shirt.

He hopped his way into his running shoes and made his way down to the track for their morning run. Phil was already waiting.

"How's it feeling this morning?" Phil asked as they fell into step beside each other and walked across the training field to the track.

"Tweaked a little when I stretched, but it faded pretty quick."

"What time is your check up?"

"Seven," Clint answered as they moved into a jog. He knew immediately that he hadn't hidden the anxiousness in his tone.

"Since you passed your eval yesterday, if they clear you, you'll be able to return to active duty," Phil put in optimistically.

Clint nodded, wishing he could be as excited as the news warranted. But if he was never able to fire his bow again, he wasn't sure he wanted to be in the field. At least not right now. His bow had been an extension of his being since he was eleven years old. He couldn't imagine never firing it again. But the bullet had torn through every muscle and tendon between its entry point and the shoulder blade it lodged in. One major surgery later, to remove the bullet and keep him from dying and to reconstruct his ravaged shoulder, it _felt_ like it always had. Just with the occasional tweak of pain and an ache that would settle in every now and then.

"Your doctor said things were looking better last time," Phil added as they moved around the track.

"Can we talk about something else?" Clint asked quietly. He spent enough time thinking about his shoulder. He spent enough time worrying about whether it would ever be the same. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He didn't want to worry about it anymore. He just wanted to enjoy his morning run with his handler and pretend nothing had changed.

"Sure," Phil agreed easily, "The Yankees play the White Sox on Friday night. I think if we ask the right person we can get one of the briefing rooms and pull it up on a big screen."

"Can we get pizza?"

"Of course."

"Then I'm in."

* * *

"Any pain?" Doctor Dan Wilson asked as he rotated Clint's shoulder.

"Only when I move wrong every now and then," Clint replied honestly.

"Well, it's healed very well, better than I ever expected."

"But?" Clint asked knowingly, tossing a glance at Phil who stood near the door.

"But I want you to wait on trying out your bow. Give it a few more weeks and we'll see."

Clint nodded, keeping his expression carefully blank so his disappointment didn't show.

"You can officially get back in the op rotation though because other than that your shoulder is looking great. As long as you don't put undue strain on it, you'll be fine."

Clint nodded again, reaching for his t-shirt.

"Thanks, Dan," Phil offered as Clint moved towards him. He gripped Clint's shoulder and steered him out of the room. Before the door closed, Phil glanced back and sent a questioning glance at Dan, who gave him a thumbs up in return.

* * *

"So a few more weeks," Clint stated with forced optimism as they made their way down the hallway. "At least he didn't say never, so that's an improvement."

"Yes, it definitely is. You'll be firing your bow again before you know it."

"Yeah," Clint wasn't able to keep the sigh out of his tone and he hoped Phil didn't notice. He knew it was too much to hope for, Phil noticed everything. His handler gripped his right shoulder affectionately.

"Come on, I've got a surprise for you. It _is_ your three year mark today, so I think you're due something to celebrate about."

Clint perked up at that.

"What's on the agenda for today?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Well first, I need you to follow me and ask no questions."

Clint inclined his head in agreement and obediently followed Phil through the compound. His eyebrows arched when he realized they were headed towards the range. He thought that maybe Phil was going to let him fire all the range weapons again, like they'd done back when Phil was making up for the incident with Agent Hanson.

Phil typed in his access code and the range door slid open. Phil led the way inside and Clint looked around in confusion.

"Where is everybody?" Clint asked as he realized the entire range was cleared out, not a soul in sight.

"Well," Phil replied from where he'd moved over to a locker against the wall. He typed a short code to unlock it and turned to face Clint without withdrawing anything. "I thought this moment was better spent without an audience."

"What moment?" Clint frowned thoughtfully.

"This one."

Phil pulled a compact black mass from the locker, pressed a button and snapped Clint's bow out to full form. Clint's quiver came out next and Phil carried both over to his agent, whose eyes had widened.

"But the doc said I couldn't." Clint stated, his jaw clenching suddenly, wondering why Phil would play a joke like this.

"I know what Dan said. I talked to him last night. Told him that if he thought your shoulder could handle it for him to give me a signal today. Then I told him to lie through his teeth so it could be a surprise."

Clint scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

"You are cruel."

Phil smirked and held the bow out.

Clint's smile melted away and his expression became deeply serious as he extended his right hand and took the bow into it. His jaw clenched and he blew out a short breath because something that had shifted out of place when the doctors told him he might never fire this weapon again shifted back and he felt _right_ for the first time in four months.

He hooked the appropriate fingers of his left hand around the string and raised the bow, pulling the string back in a fluid motion. His shoulder pulled, and then twinged in pain, but it didn't falter and the pain wasn't enough to stop him now. Clint let himself smile as he eased the string back.

Phil was already holding out an arrow.

Clint accepted it, nocked it, and let it fly at the first target he saw. It flew almost as true as any of his arrows ever had, burying itself in the center circle of the target, if only slightly off to the right. Phil nodded his head approvingly.

"I see four months without touching a bow hasn't decreased your proficiency."

"It's not my aim that's gonna need work, it's my stamina. I'm gonna have to get my arm back into shape."

"Nothing like some target practice to start the process," Phil suggested, holding out the quiver for Clint to take. The archer took it and hooked it over his shoulder. He granted Phil a sincere smile.

"Thank you."

Phil nodded in acceptance and clapped Clint on the shoulder, propelling him further into the combat training area of the range.

"Now show me what you got, kid."

* * *

"It feels so good to feel tired again," Clint sighed as they stepped out of the range two hours later. His shoulder hadn't felt this wonderfully exhausted in months. This wasn't the kind of tired that went with an injury. He was talking about the muscle weary tired of a good work out.

And it felt awesome.

"How's it feel?" Phil asked as he watched Clint stretch out his shoulder as they walked.

"A little achy and sore, but nothing serious," Clint answered honestly.

"Well that's good. What do you say we get cleaned up and then go into the city for pizza?"

"Actually," Clint countered, "I have somewhere I want to take you."

"Okay, where?" Phil asked, expecting to be told about another children's home that Clint was secretly financing.

"I can't tell you," Clint replied evasively.

Phil frowned in confusion.

"But we need a jet."

Phil pulled to a stop, blinking blankly for a moment at Clint, who just stared at him silently, giving nothing away. Finally Phil nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

* * *

"You've got me in the jet and we're airborne. Will you tell me where we're going now?" Phil asked with a laugh as Clint piloted them away from the SHIELD compound. According to the on board compass they were headed west.

"Nope."

"Nope," Phil repeated with a sigh. "Of course not."

"You got your surprise, now I get mine."

"Fair enough," Phil allowed, settling more comfortably in his seat. "How long until we get there?"

"About two hours."

Phil nodded, looking out through the viewing window to the clear blue sky.

"Who would win in a fight," Clint started with a grin, "Fury or…Voldemort?"

* * *

"How can you even think that an Ent could ever be beaten by a tornado?" Clint scoffed.

"A tornado can have several hundred mile per hours winds, the Ent wouldn't stand a chance," Phil argued logically.

"Treebeard would bitch slap any tornado that tried to roll up on him," Clint argued.

"I think you're biased."

"I am not!"

"You like the books too much to ever think one of their main characters could lose."

"Irrelevant."

Phil laughed and snuck a look at his watch. They'd been in the air for almost an hour and forty five minutes.

"Hey Phil?" Clint asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about where you came from?"

"If you're going to ask me how babies are made, there's a health education video I can get you."

"No," Clint laughed, "I mean like where you grew up, your parents, how you got where you are now."

"Sure, sometimes," Phil shrugged.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"Sure, but why?" the handler asked curiously.

"Because you know _so_ much about me," Clint replied with a sideways glance at him, "and all I know about you are the basics. You don't have any family. You went to Yale. You graduated a year early and were recruited straight into SHIELD. You know a lot of the highlights of my story. So now tell me the highlights of yours."

"Okay," Phil agreed easily. "I was born in Denver, Colorado, October 12th of 1973. I never had any siblings growing up and my mom died of cancer when I was 15. My dad," Phil smiled sadly, "my dad was never really the same and he died my freshman year of college.

"I was always athletic. I got into boxing in college and excelled at it. I was at the top of my academic class and graduated a year early. Nick Fury approached me the night of my graduation and offered me a job. He was the youngest Senior Field Agent at SHIELD at the time. I knew the moment I met him that he would be running things one day. He brought me in and the rest is kind of history."

"So you were just a normal guy?"

"Yep," Coulson smiled. "Not everybody has a recruiting story like yours. But my journey wasn't without its speed bumps. I had a few bad missions and I had a temper problem when I was first recruited."

" _You_ had a temper problem?" Clint gaped. Phil was the single most patient person he knew. The idea of him losing his cool enough to have it called a problem seemed impossible.

"I did, but I did a lot of growing up my first few years at SHIELD and eventually worked my way up and became Fury's right hand when he became Director."

Clint shook his head in awe.

"You knew Fury before he was _Fury_."

"I did." Phil laughed. "He was a little more 'fly by the seat of your pants' back then, but leadership fits him. He's good at his job."

Clint nodded.

"I had been a Supervisory Agent for," Phil thought for a moment, "two years when you came onto my radar. Did you know that I spotted you in Tangiers?"

Clint's eyes widened comically.

" _That_ was you?"

Phil nodded.

"You tried to shoot me!"

"You shot first."

"But _still_." Clint huffed, looking deeply insulted.

Phil shook his head in amusement.

"Anyway, four months later I finally caught up to you in Vienna and ended up taking on the biggest challenge of my life."

"Me," Clint stated proudly. He knew _exactly_ how much of a challenge he'd been, _still_ was.

"Yeah, _you_. I don't think I knew what stress was until I met you," Phil teased lightly, sitting up a little straighter when he noticed Clint had started his landing procedures.

"You saying I'm a handful?"

"I'm saying I never worried before like I do now, never got frustrated as much either."

Clint smirked, looking proud again.

"Never laughed as much either, though," Phil added, watching Clint's expression closely. He was rewarded by the tiniest flash of joy in response to the statement.

"Me neither, Phil," Clint reached to pat his hand firmly against Phil's bicep. "We're here."

"Where?"

"You'll see," Clint smiled as he lowered the jet towards a small open field.

"Is that a field?"

"Yes, Phil. This is called nature. I know it's a shock to your city boy system, but there exists a world beyond concrete and asphalt."

Phil rolled his eyes, leaving Clint to do his landing in peace. Several minutes later the jet was powered off and Clint was urging him down the ramp.

"Did you bring me out here for a hike?"

"Jesus, is it just the anniversaries or do just normally hide how impatient you are?"

"Just curious," Phil defended. "You're being all cryptic and evasive. You did this last year too."

"And was it worth the wait?" Clint challenged.

"Fine," Coulson raised his hands in submission. "Lead the way."

* * *

They walked for a good thirty minutes and then suddenly walked out onto a two lane road. Phil looked around, hoping to find an indication as to where they were. There was none. They walked for another ten minutes and then Phil caught sight of a wooden sign ahead of them. As they grew closer he was able to make out the words.

_Welcome to Waverly, Iowa_

Phil's silence as they walked past the sign and towards the small town he could now see clearly, wasn't because of concession to Clint's leadership in this. It was shock. Clint had been born and spent the first ten years of his life in Waverly, Iowa. Of all the places he expected Clint to take him, this had never _ever_ been one of them. Clint had left behind a life of pain and suffering when he'd run away from this town as a ten year old.

But Phil should have known. Clint had a way of surprising people.

Phil didn't know he'd stopped and was just staring at Clint's back as he walked, until Clint turned back.

"Come on, there're some people I want you to meet."

Phil followed mutely. What could he say? This was Clint's hometown. The town his parent's had died in. The town he'd been abused in. Clint was walking with his gaze pointed straight ahead, looking neither left nor right. Phil wondered what memories were playing through his agent's mind at the moment. What memories he was trying to avoid by looking nowhere but at the sidewalk before him.

Phil looked at everything. This was another piece of Clint's past, a _huge_ piece. And he wasn't just hearing about it. He was seeing it. They walked past a barber shop. Phil wondered if Clint had ever gotten his hair cut there. There was a McDonalds and Phil wondered if it had been there when Clint lived here, if he'd eaten there.

Quite suddenly, Clint crossed the street. Phil followed, looking up at their destination, at the large iron gate with an inscription above it.

_Waverly Cemetery_

And suddenly Phil understood.

* * *

Clint risked a glance over his shoulder to see Phil's reaction. About and shocked as he'd expected. Clint returned his gaze to the path in front of him, looking neither left nor right. It was harder than he'd anticipated, being back in Waverly. It had been about eleven years now since he'd last stepped foot inside the town limits and a lot had changed.

A lot hadn't though, and that's what had made his throat tighten as he'd moved down the street and led Phil to their goal. Things were more familiar than he wanted them to be; from the barber shop where he'd gotten his first haircut to the McDonald's where they'd picked up French Fries after school every Friday when Clint was in kindergarten.

Finally, the cemetery had come into sight and Clint had veered suddenly to cross the street, trusting Phil to follow. Then Clint was faced with a whole new slew of memories. The day of the funeral. The many times he'd visited over the six months that followed to cry about the unfairness of _everything_ at the time. The many times he'd visited in the three years that had come after where he didn't cry at all, even though everything was still so unfair. Unfair that he never seemed to be without bruises anymore. Unfair that he had to sneak out in the middle of the night to come here. Unfair that Barney wasn't acting like Barney used to act. Unfair that his parents had been taken in the first place.

Clint felt his chest tighten at the memories as he weaved his way through the headstones, finally coming to a stop before a matching set.

* * *

_Clifford Henry Barton_

_1957-1992_

_Loving Father_

* * *

_Katherine Marie Barton_

_1960-1992_

_Loving Mother_

* * *

For a long moment Clint could only stare and then Phil stepped up to his side and he found the strength to speak.

"Phil Coulson, I want you to meet my parents, Cliff and Katie Barton."

Phil's eyes were somber as he regarded the headstones. He reached to grip Clint's right shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"You wanna tell me about them?" Phil offered quietly.

Clint's expression fractured for a moment before he sniffed, blinked away whatever moisture had gathered in his eyes, and cleared his throat with a nod.

"I don't remember a lot about them, being so young when they died, but I remember the important things. Like my mom, she always smelled like strawberries because of her shampoo. She made the best chocolate chip cookies and we usually ate half the dough before they ever made it to the oven."

Clint laughed a little at that memory.

Phil smiled, wondering if that was where Clint's addiction to sugar had started.

"She wasn't very tall, had long blonde hair and eyes bluer than the anything you'd ever seen. And she loved to laugh, which was good because my dad was funny. He was always cutting up about something, doing whatever he could to make us all smile. He always smelled like sweat and sawdust because he worked construction. He was taller than me, about six foot, black hair, dark brown eyes. The exact opposite of my mom."

Clint smiled suddenly, going on without thinking.

"I remember my first day of kindergarten. I was so excited the whole way there, would _not_ stop talking. My dad had taken the morning off so he could go with my mom to drop me off. The three of us walked Barney to his class together, he was in 5th grade that year, and then we walked to my room. I talked and talked right up until we hit the classroom door."

"That's when the fear hit?" Phil guessed with a grin.

"Hit _hard_ ," Clint agreed. "I locked up so stiff that my dad thought I was having a seizure."

"What'd they do?"

"They both crouched down and my mom reminded me of all the friends I was going to make and all the awesome things I was going to learn. I still wasn't budging because up until that moment I had firmly believed that they were going to be staying with me all day. But just before I could start busting out with the biggest tears I could muster, my dad gave me a hug and promised me that they would come back and get me that afternoon. And somehow that made everything okay because when my dad made a promise, he kept it."

"How did the day go?"

"I don't remember," Clint laughed. "But I do remember them both waiting outside my classroom when school got out. Just like he'd promised."

The laughter faded and Clint's eyes settled on his father's name.

"So I'm guessing you look more like your mom?" Phil hazarded, wondering if Clint would say anymore. The archer nodded.

"And Barney looks like my dad, tall and dark," he added almost absently as he continued to stare at the names carved in stone.

Phil stood in respectful silence as Clint stared and remembered.

"What do you think they'd say if they could see me now? You think they'd be proud to have a son who became a professional killer?" Clint asked doubtfully.

"I think they'd be proud to have a son that became a brave, strong, and loyal man," Phil countered quietly. He saw Clint's lips quirk. "I know _I'm_ proud."

Clint's lips quirked into a full smile.

"They would have liked you, Phil."

"Something tells me I would have liked them too."

Clint nodded and crouched, reaching to brush his fingers across each name in turn. Clint didn't say anything. He never did when he came here. Even when he was just a little kid he had understood that his parents were gone. He didn't ever remember thinking they could hear him somewhere in the universe and so he'd never talked. He'd just sat and remembered when things were better.

Now, he didn't have to do that. Things _were_ better. It was easier to stand up and back away this time than it had ever been before.

He smiled slightly at Phil, his new family, and stepped back the way they'd come.

"Ready to go home?" Clint asked.

"Can you give me just a minute?" Phil asked. Clint's brow furrowed in slight confusion but he nodded and moved a few paces away. It was Phil's turn to crouch.

"You two should be damned proud of what you created in that kid. I've never met a better man in my life. And I just want you to know you don't have to worry about him anymore. I'll take care of him now."

And then he stood and backed away. Phil didn't know if Clint's parents could hear him somewhere in the cosmos. He didn't know if his words meant anything to anyone but him. But he'd meant them and when he turned away and fell in step next to Clint, he'd never been surer of a promise in his life than he was of the one he'd just made to Cliff and Katie Barton.

He would take care of Clint now. Now it was _his_ job.

* * *

End of Year Three

Aw! The Bromance! :D Clint brings Natasha to meet them one day too :)

I love comments like Clint loves sugar! :D

Thanks for reading!


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